Slipping
by Simone Robinson
Summary: "- He could control the bottle. He could control how much he drank. He could control when he got wasted. If. How. With who, more often than not. But now that control was slipping.-" Life, money, love, reality.  All just slipping away.


**S **l i p p i n g

* * *

Seto was drunk. No, not drunk, wasted. Wasted. Trashed. Out of his mind.

Crying.

Seth had cried. Strong, silent tears as he lowered her beside her stone. The stone of her Blue-Eyes. Her Ka.

Seto loved her Ka more than she ever had. It was a part of him. It was his link to her and what she saw as a curse, he saw as a gift. His strength.

He used to be her strength. Once.

A long time ago.

Before things had started falling apart.

But now _she_ had become _his_ strength.

Because she just kept fighting. She just kept standing even when everyone else was gone and Seto was on his knees.

His coat was off, thrown in some trash-strewn ally. That was okay. He'd just buy a new one tomorrow. Money was never a problem.

His shirt was rolled up and stained with his sweat. Damp in hot, sticky patches across his back, his chest. It was unbuttoned too, the threads dangling in taters against his skin.

There was a stench in the air. Sickly and rotten and rancid. It was pungent as it seeped into her skin, tangy almost. Raw.

Bloodshot eyes. Red, slick, wet. His eyes were too wet. With what? Tears? Tears of sadness? Of anger?

Pain?

Yes. That was it. It was the stench of raw, barbaric pain. A pain that had this man, the strongest man she knew, on his hands and knees, clawing at the asphalt like it was his life line. Like it was his only grip on reality, his only link to the real world.

Maybe it was, and he just couldn't hold on anymore.

She wanted to cry. She really did. She wanted to break down and bury her face in his trembling neck. She wanted to breathe him in. Breathe in the rank smell of pain and make everything better. Make him better and her better and this whole Godforsaken world _better_.

But more than anything, Kisara wanted to run.

She wanted to run away. Run away from the flashes of pain, of a girl with snow white hair sprawled in the arms of her savior. Of her love. Her Seth.

But Seth wasn't here. Seth was the grain, the seed planted in the heart of her lover. The seed that fought and kicked and refused to give in. Who fought past the abuse, who fought for those he loved. The one who grit his teeth and bit his tongue so hard that the blood started to trickle from his lips. Staining them.

Staining his white skin. Pale. Seto was pale, unlike Seth.

Kisara had been pale too. Once. She still was, but she wasn't ostracized for it anymore.

Seto had made sure of that.

Now Kisara asked the question, her knees crashing to the pavement.

_Who was it? Who did this? Was it Gozaburo? __Akhenaden__? The Pharaoh? The thief king? Or was it the little spiteful residue of Seth hidden in his heart?_

Seto didn't answer. No. He couldn't answer.

He couldn't answer as he tried to fight the convulsions. Those awful, ripping convulsions that arched his back and made his eyes go white. That made him shudder and almost,_ almost_ scream as he lost all control of his vocal cords. Lost control of everything.

Control.

It had always been the core. Always.

He couldn't control anything anymore. Mokuba had his company, worry for his brother coaxing Seto out, no longer CEO. The servants controlled him too. His meals. Always healthy- to their standards. On orders of Mokuba- setting off the power so he couldn't work after ten. Rest. He needed rest. Curfew. The great Seto Kaiba. The youngest millionaire- the best duelist. World champ. A legend. An _icon_. The world in his pocket.

Reduced to this.

He fired them all. Hired new ones. They started the whole cycle over. Kisara thought she'd seen the change of many hired aids. Hundreds.

Money was never a problem.

What he lacked was control.

But…

He could control the bottle. He could control how much he drank. He could control when he got wasted. If. How. With who, more often than not.

But now that control was slipping. Slipping more and more each day. Slipping and tearing from his hands and he clung to it desperately. But Kisara could see it was a loosing battle. It had been from the start.

And now he clung to her, and she held him to her body, like he was the last man on earth. Because that's exactly what he was. The last man on her earth. The first. Her love. Her Seto. Her Seth.

He wrapped her arms around him as he fought for that last bit of control. Stubborn. He was always so, so stubborn.

But he was breaking.

This disease was doing what no one else had ever been able to do.

Not Gozaburo.

Not Akhenaden.

Not The thief king.

Not even her.

It was breaking him.

Tearing each seam. Slowly. As each one popped, she could see it in his eyes, with each fresh swig of the bottle. Each bit of slipping control. Of his slipping mind. His genius mind.

All the genius in the world.

And he was still dying.

And every bit of life was wrenched from his control.

But he had the power to stay still. The choice to hover just between her arms and the sticky, filthy pavement, stained red where his hands had been grazed raw. Torn open.

_Again._

His hands were shaking. Sweat ran from his temples. His teeth clenched. Hair lying lank in his eyes.

It seemed to take everything he had, dredged up from the very pit of his stomach, from his soul and he lifted his head, a beast of burden, to stare into her eyes, "_Kisara_…"

They collapsed on the ground, a tangle of arms and legs and tears. Kisses and whisky. Hands and lips and cold, hard pavement against flushed skin.

"_Kisara…"_

Was he crying now? She didn't know.

Was she crying? Let it be her. Ra- let it be her because if he was crying then it was all over.

"_One last time_…"

Pleading. Commanding. She didn't know. Didn't care.

Just wrapped her arms around him and forgot.

_About this strange new world._

_About Death._

_About her Ka._

_About Seth._

And held Seto.

One. Last. Time.

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**What did you think?**


End file.
